


Don't Tell Him I've Told You

by laeb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HBP never happened, M/M, Sweet, coming home, ginny/draco and hermione/severus background pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-24
Updated: 2006-02-24
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeb/pseuds/laeb
Summary: Harry comes home to the Burrow right before Christmas after spending five years away.





	Don't Tell Him I've Told You

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: is welcome, always  
> Short notes: Gift-fic for my darling nimerha, who asked for Harry/Ron, some cuddling under the blankets in front of the fire with biscuits and tea. Hope you’ll enjoy, little darling. *mwah*  
> Beta: Why, Ms Cummins of course. And the lovely yehnica

**_Don’t Tell Him I’ve Told You_**  
  
His return to his homeland had been somewhat discreet. He had not warned anybody that that had been his last mission over the pond. His last mission as an Auror, for that matter. Eight years dedicated to his training and his job, he’d decided, were more than enough. Especially since five of those had been spent in a colder, whiter, hotter country than his own. He also missed his family and friends. Quebec was all good, its people friendly and its version of the French language a treat once you learned it properly, but it wasn’t home, no matter how long he had lived there, undercover. There were people he was eager to meet again; he could not wait to crawl from a pub to another—pissed silly and happy about it, could not wait to hear the accent of  _real_  Britons. BBC America was nice and everything, but re-runs of  _The Office_ ,  _Little Britain_  and  _Top of the Pops_  weren’t enough to sustain him anymore.  
  
With his luggage in his trousers pockets and presents and various souvenirs in his travelling cloak, he made his way to the entrance of the Burrow, hoping he would be welcome. He had not, after all, warned anyone. He doubted, however, that he would be a burden. He merely hoped that he would not, once more, cause chaos in his friends’ lives—mind you, Molly would probably have a fit no matter what, if only by wondering if he’d been well-fed during his stay overseas. Not worried for a second, he knew that if she ended displeased with his ‘state’, she would force-feed him with all she had prepared for the Christmas feast and would start other batches of food for everyone else. And he would not have a say in this. Not that he minded. He’d missed her cooking in all those years he’d been gone.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked on the door sharply, and waited. He heard muttering on the other side and wasn’t entirely sure if he’d heard it right but it was something about Severus and Hermione being early. That was when the door opened, letting out the warmth and the delicious smell Harry had come to associate with the Burrow. The lights were so bright inside and it was so dark outside that Harry was blinded and could only see the contours of a lean silhouette. Three seconds later, he was engulfed in the bone-crushing embrace that characterised all the Weasleys. With a startled laugh, he returned the hug with all the strength he could muster.  
  
‘Missed me?’ he enquired with a small smile. He still had to figure out which one he was talking to.  
  
‘Merlin, Harry! It’s a good thing mum wasn’t the one to open the door, or else you’d have given her an attack!’ was his response, dragged inside as the man talked, the door closing behind them and Harry’s eyes finally adjusting to the level of light inside the house. The long hair, and the voice he vaguely recalled from his younger years told him he was facing Bill Weasley.  
  
‘It’s nice to see you too, Bill. How long has it been?’ Harry said happily.  _This_  was what home should feel, what it felt like to him.  
  
‘Too long, Harry. How long have you been back? But come in, come in! Mum will kill me if I don’t act the perfect host. Let me take your cloak.  _MUM!_ ’ he shouted, ‘You won’t guess who was at the door! It definitely wasn’t Severus,’ he added, also taking care of the presents Harry had un-shrunk.  
  
Molly arrived—still drying her hands on a tea towel—and squealed and tossed the towel to the ground to throw her arms around Harry in a way that told him he might as well get used to it: everyone would attempt to his life in the next three days or so. Of that he was now quite certain. She was rambling, touching him everywhere as though not believing it really was Harry standing in front of her. Grabbing his arm, she led him to the sitting room and sat him on the couch while she went to get everyone else.  
  
More calmly, Arthur, Fleur—with two children trailing behind her, Ginny and (surprise!) Draco Malfoy joined them in the room. Thus began another tour of handshakes, hugs and other welcoming kisses (French tradition obliged—not that Harry was complaining). When everyone had settled down with tea, biscuits and cakes, the talking began. More exact would be to say that a tight interrogation took place in front of the burning hearth. Harry vs a trolley of Weasleys and in-laws.  
  
Now only had his letters been few and far between, they were also vague and wouldn’t say much more than ‘I am still alive’ and that the Weasleys hadn’t been allowed to write to Harry themselves, it soon became his turn to ask all the questions. He had to make up for five years of gossip, news and announcements.  
  
Quickly enough, he gathered that Draco and Ginny had been together for a few years: she worked as a trainee medi-witch at St. Mungos’ and he had become, under Bill’s tutelage, a curse-breaker. Ron, he learned, was single and lived in Diagon Alley where he now co-owned a quidditch-related shop. Fred and George were both happily married, respectively to Angelina and Luna, both with three children (who would have thought?) and were now exporting the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes around the globe. Percy and Penelope were married and didn’t keep in touch much with the rest of the family, while Charlie was his old single self, living a quiet life in Romania with his dragons and Bill and Fleur had moved back to Britain after a few years in Egypt. The eldest of the Weasley children now worked for Gringott’s Bank in Diagon Alley and lived near the Burrow with his wife and two kids, Ophélie and Félix.   
  
The biggest surprise, however, came when he was updated on Hermione’s life since he’d left. She had been an Unspeakable for a time and was now married … to Severus Snape! Harry never would have matched those two together, but the reports he was given let him understand they were very happy and—he couldn’t believe his ears—that Hermione was pregnant with their first child.  _Old Snape, dealing with babies?_  He shook his head and kept on listening. She had now been Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic for a year and there already were rumours of her submitting her candidature when the next elections would come, eighteen months from now. She had the ambition, the folly, the brains, the cunning (thanks to her  _association_  with Severus) to succeed where no other witch (and no one so young!) had before, if the rumours were to be listened to.  
  
At last, the people in the room started talking amongst themselves and Harry was given the chance to digest all the information he had been bombarded with in the last hour. Distractedly sipping on his tea, he looked around himself and noticed how each of them had changed. He wondered how Hermione and Severus would have changed, how they were together. He pondered whether all the children would bear red hair. He thought of Ron, and how he would look, five years later.  
  
Harry never let himself ponder over his past too much. At the time, it had come as a mutual decision for him and Ron to part and live their lives their own way. They had very different ambitions and goals, and Harry already knew he would be deported for a number of years the second he completed his training. If their break up had not been painful, it had nonetheless left him aching inside for months afterwards. He slowly learned to tune the ache down, but he knew it was growing closer to the surface once more, the prospect of seeing Ron again after so many years now concrete and real.  
  
A poke in the ribs woke him from his reverie, and he noticed people had moved around the room and that Ginny was now the one sitting by his side. He shook himself. ‘Sorry, you were saying…?’  
  
Ginny laughed and winked at him. ‘I was saying, love, that you looked as though you weren’t exactly with us.’  
  
With a sheepish look, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Might have. Sorry?’  
  
‘Oh no, Harry Potter! The puppy look doesn’t work with me! If I managed to tame that one,’ she said, pointing over to where Draco was engrossed in a conversation with Bill, ‘and become immune to all his tricks, I certainly won’t fall for yours!’  
  
Harry was about to reply when a yawn escaped him. And was noticed by Molly. ‘Good lord, Harry! Why didn’t you tell us you were tired! Of course you must be dead on your feet! You silly boy! You should be in bed, trying to get some rest! Let me assure you, you will need as much energy as you can spare to survive through the next two days!’ She pushed him out of the room as everyone wished him good night. ‘Now, I got Ron’s old room prepared, is it alright with you?’ she added as she led him to the room, still painted in bright orange, its walls covered with Canons posters.  
  
He nodded, as he moved toward the bed, messily getting rid of his shirt and trousers and leaving them on the floor. As long has he had a mattress he didn’t need anything else, he thought, his eyes shutting as he slipped between the sheets and taking a deep breath. He was home.  
  
****  
  
The next day came gloomily, the sky filled up with grey clouds and the air dense and humid. Harry woke to loud noises coming from downstairs and suddenly he realised that shrieks were quickly making their way to his bedroom. He braced himself for the storm he knew was just about to hit.  
  
The door opened and thanks to his permanent eye correction he immediately identified the squealing mass that tackled him to the bed. ‘Hello to you too, Mimi.’ The young woman seemed at loss for words and could only squeeze him tighter in manner of a response. He squeezed back.  
  
Over the mass of hair covering him, Harry noticed there was a tall shape dressed in dark colours waiting on the threshold of the room. ‘Professor Snape. I would go and shake hands with you; however, it appears I am stuck under your wife for the while being. And certainly not appropriately dressed,’ he added. The smile that stretched his former professor’s lips was something he’d never witnessed before and he was quite certain he’d never forget it.  
  
‘Mr Potter. How lovely to have you back. On such short notice. Hermione, I’m afraid we shall have to return to Diagon Alley and shop some more,’ Severus said with an exaggerated sigh.  
  
Harry shook his head. ‘Nonsense. This is far from necessary.’ He squirmed a little under the weight still pinning him to his bed. ‘However, if you saw to it that your wife would let go of me for a few minutes, I would get myself out of this bed and join you downstairs…?’ he said with a little pleading in his eyes.  
  
A sharp bark that probably passed for laughter escaped the man’s mouth. ‘But of course Mr Potter. Now Hermione, dear, if you saw fit to let go of Harry here for a few minutes...’ Hermione finally released her deadly grip on her friend and looked at him with a little shyness from underneath her eyelashes. ‘Sorry, Harry. I just…’  
  
Harry chuckled and kissed her cheek. ‘I know, Mimi. It’s brilliant to see you, too. And the professor,’ he nodded in the man’s direction. ‘You’ll have a thousand questions I’m sure and so do I but let’s just take this downstairs, right?’ His stomach growled with hunger. ‘And perhaps after I’ve had a little something to eat as well.’ She nodded and finally moved from the bed, taking the hand of her husband and following him out of the room. ‘Don’t take too long!’ she shouted over her shoulder as she closed the door.  
  
***  
  
Half and hour later he was sitting at the kitchen table, feeding himself on grilled tomatoes, rashers, bangers, eggs, beans and chips, a cup of English Breakfast at his elbow. Damn it but he was hungry! And it had been so long since he’d had a proper breakfast, he’d missed it badly.  
  
He finished eating under the amused comments of one too many Weasleys (the earlier noises, it seemed, had been caused by the simultaneous arrival of George, Fred and their families) and they moved the conversation to the sitting room once he was done. He played with the youngsters, listened with a distracted ear to what the adults were discussing and tried to have a conversation with Severus (it seemed they were familiar enough to bypass formalities and be on a first-name basis) about the culture of Canadian Wizards.  
  
Lunch went by in a flash and Harry excused himself and went for a short nap. Severus offered to fetch him a potion to fight the jetlag but he decided against it. He hated taking potions unless there was no alternate solution.  
  
Two hours and a detour by the bathroom later, Harry—hair wet and shirt clinging to his abs—finally returned to the sitting room. There were so many read heads that he assumed some more must have arrived at the Burrow while he was upstairs. With an amused shake of his head and as discreetly as possible, he went to sit and chat with Hermione and Severus. They were so engrossed in their conversation that it wasn’t until Severus stopped talking to look at something in the room that they noticed they were being observed. Harry turned around to see what had interrupted them and sucked a breath in.  
  
‘Hello, Harry.’ The voice was deep and scorching just as he remembered it to be. However the look in those bright blue eyes was insecure. Harry gulped and tried not to stare at the tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed god that was looking at him straight in the eyes.  
  
‘Ron. I wasn’t aware you’d arrived.’ He managed not to stutter or sound too nervous.  
  
Ron gave him a lopsided smile and extended an arm to him, inviting him to shake his hand. ‘Comes as a shock to me too, mate. I mean, they didn’t even tell me you were back.’  
  
Harry ignored the proffered hand and wrapped his small, sinewy frame around that of his friend and hugged him, hard. ‘It’s good to see you, mate.’ The embrace lasted only a second, as Harry felt Ron tense in his arms. Just as he moved back to stand at a respectable distance, he felt that pinch at his heart, again. He should have known better, really. He was acting like an infatuated idiot. Not that he wasn’t one anyway, right?  
  
Ron returned the gesture with an impersonal pat on Harry’s shoulder, a nervous cadence to his voice. ‘Same here, mate. When d’you have to go back?’  
  
Harry made for Ron to follow him back to the couch where he’d been talking to Hermione and Severus. ‘As it is, I won’t have to. I’m done with them. I’m back for good. Plus Severus would have my skin if I wasn’t there to provide for babysitting duty calls during my goddaughter’s childhood,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Never mind that Hermione won’t let me out of her sight, right Mimi?’ He laughed raucously when he caught her blushing, trying to hide her reddening cheeks behind a curtain of hair.  
  
Ron and Severus also had to laugh at the sight, which only embarrassed the young woman further. ‘Have some pity for a pregnant woman full of hormones, you brute!’ she mumbled. Which, of course, made the men laugh harder.  
  
***  
  
It was much later, in the wee hours of the morning, that Harry finally found himself alone on the settee in front of the fire, a glass of Jameson in hand, a faraway look in his eyes.   
  
Ron, he’d learned as the afternoon went by, was dating someone new. With a reassuring squeeze of his hand, Hermione later told him it was a recent fling that apparently meant nothing to the young man, adding under her breath that he’d add one serious relationship in all the years he and Harry had been apart. ‘I’m sure he still feels something for you, Harry, and I know you—’ she stopped at the glare he sent her. ‘Alright, you twat. I won’t say the words but the feelings remain. He doesn’t care—yet—for that bloke. Do what you will with that piece of information. But I warned you!’ And with that she’d left for bed after giving him his kiss goodnight.  
  
He didn’t want to care of course, but doubts filled him. Ron’s reactions to him earlier that day had been so controlled, so aloof that he didn’t dare believe Hermione could be right. In fact, Harry was certain she was merely, just like himself, seeing what she wanted to see in Ron’s actions.  
  
 _‘Bonsoir Harry. Tu n’arrivais pas à dormir?’_  
  
With good grace, Harry switched his mind from English to French.  _‘Bonsoir, Fleur. Ou plutôt bon matin… et Joyeux Nöel!’_  
  
She smiled.  _‘Joyeux Noël à toi aussi, Harry. Alors?’  
  
‘Non, je suis incapable de fermer l’œil. Je crois que je suis encore sous le décalage horaire. Que fais-tu encore debout à cette heure?’  
  
‘Félix a fait un cauchemar, et je n’arrive pas à me rendormir.’_ Her voice was delicate and melodic, her accent rather pointed compared to his own, but he liked it nonetheless.  
  
 _‘Voudrais-tu te joindre à moi en ce cas?’_  he gestured toward the table where the half-full bottle of Irish whiskey was standing.  _‘Je peux t’offrir un verre, peut-être? Je n’en souffle pas un mot à Bill, promis juré!’_  
  
She laughed.  _‘Tu peux lui dire si tu veux, ce n’est pas un problème. Je suis Française après tout. Nous avons la réputation d’être des alcoolos, non?’_  She winked and sipped from the glass Harry had made her while she was talking.  _‘C’est du bon ça. Et maintenant que les civilités ont pris le bord, tu vas me dire pourquoi tu rumines tout seul à la lueur du feu?’_  
  
He shook his head.  _‘Je ne suis pas en train de ruminer.’_  An inquisitive and steady look from the young French woman had him shrugging his shoulders.  _‘Ok, peut-être un peu. Mais je suis ok, je vais m’en remettre. C’est juste que je suis parti si longtemps ... je dois me faire à l’idée qu’il y a plein de trucs qui ont changé depuis que je suis parti ... et pour moi c’est comme si je n’étais parti qu’une semaine. Comme si le temps s’était arrêté pour moi mais que tout le reste du monde avait continué à aller de l’avant. Je suis resté en arrière comme un idiot.’_ He swallowed the last of his whiskey and poured himself another one.  
  
Fleur kept silent after that, feeling he needed to lose himself in his thoughts, but stayed with him for another hour or so. When she got up to leave, Harry was slumbering on his chair. She covered him with a quilt, kissed his brow and murmured for his half-asleep mind,  _‘Il t’aime encore tu sais, mais c’est un secret. Ne lui dis pas que je te l’ai dit.’_ With one last tender look for the younger man, whose company she would always cherish, she left for her room, where a tall red-head was warming her bed.  
  
***  
  
Christmas morning came too early for Harry’s liking, but the delighted exclamations of the children when they reached the sitting room and ran to the Christmas tree to see their piles of presents—closely followed by the twins and Ron—brought a smile to Harry’s face and he couldn’t complain. Discreetly, he left the room and headed upstairs to quickly wash himself before everyone else would queue outside the bathrooms. Freshened up and having worked out all the kinks in his neck, Harry made his way downstairs and went to help Molly in the kitchen after eating some beans on a toast. He would eat properly later, but he knew his surrogate mum appreciated the help. Especially on Christmas day. After all, Ron wasn’t the only Weasley whose stomach was an endless pit and they would have to feed them all, everyone but Percy and Penelope had made it home this season. With the quantities of food Molly had made and Harry’s efficiency serving everyone and making sure there was a good rota at the kitchen table, breakfast was a success.  
  
The children were being entertained by their favourite uncles Fred and George, who had brought home samples of their new jokes for the youngster to see, while ‘uncle’ Severus was keeping a close eye on things from his chair in the corner.   
  
The other adults finished cleaning the kitchen and soon join the group in the sitting room, where Harry, once everyone had settled down, distributed the piles of presents to everyone—a feat in itself, if you recall how many Weasleys there were nowadays. ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs’ and squeals and shouts filled the house as everyone started opening their boxes, and hugs, kisses, and thank yous were exchanged for the best part of an hour. Harry’s ‘little somethings’ as he called them were more than well received and it warmed his heart to see all these happy faces beaming at him … even Severus had deigned shake his hand and hug him briefly! His own pile had been impressive considering the short notice he’d given them all and he was pleased to see that some things hadn’t changed. He’d received books (from the Granger-Snapes or course), sweets and chocolate and pranks by the dozen, his Weasley jumper—which he put on immediately, a voucher for a fancy Muggle restaurant in London and some others for shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, where he could buy all he would need to furnish this flat he promised himself he would buy as soon as possible.  
  
Lunch was late and fulfilling, they’d set the table in the dinning room and everyone sat at once, chatted and had a good time. Immediately afterwards, Harry excused himself and went for yet another short nap, pleading the fact he had barely slept the night before. When he woke up, things were quieter: the kids were playing outside with George and Fred once more and there were some guests in the kitchen. Harry, delighted to see Remus, Albus and Minerva along with family friends of the Weasleys spent the rest of the day busy as a bee, catching up with everyone’s comings and goings of the last years.  
  
And although he tried his hardest, Fleur’s words—he could recall her voice but not her face as she’d told him—haunted him like the Bloody Baron would the dungeons. Every time his eyes had met Ron’s by inadvertence, every time Fleur smiled that beautiful smile of hers at him, every time Ron would get closer to his ‘friend’ (who’d arrived while Harry was napping) to whisper something in the other man’s ear; all of these times Harry would hear,  _‘Il t’aime encore, tu sais. Mais c’est un secret.’  
  
‘Il t’aime encore.’  
  
‘...encore.’  
  
‘Encore.’ _  
  
By the look of things, Harry knew he would have to make his move sooner rather than later. There wasn’t much time to be wasted. But how could he get to speak to Ron in private? He would have to work something out; Ron had avoided finding himself alone with him all day, but now he wondered on the meaning of it. Perhaps he merely didn’t have a clue Harry still had feelings for him? He would have to plan things out.  
  
***  
  
It was late at last and Harry was nursing a lukewarm cup of tea on the couch in front of the fire, engrossed in one of the books Severus had given him when he felt another presence in the room. He stayed quiet and the other person moved closer to the hearth before jumping and shouting with surprise.  
  
‘HARRY! Good god, mate, are you trying to kill me?’  
  
Harry let out a chuckle. ‘Sorry Ron, I thought you would know there already was someone in the room. Care to join me and share a cuppa? There are biscuits, too.’  
  
Ron shrugged. ‘Sure, why not.’  
  
With a wave of his wand, Harry handed Ron a steaming mug and served himself another one. The red-head sipped his. ‘It’s perfect, mate. Just the way I like it.’ And with that he engulfed a couple of the biscuits that were on a plate.  
  
‘I know,’ was Harry’s soft, quiet answer. How could he have forgotten? ‘You’re gonna sit down?’  
  
With another shrug, Ron installed himself at the other end of the couch, putting as much distance between Harry and himself as was possible, which made Harry frown. ‘Do I make you uncomfortable, Ron? I’m sorry if that’s the case, I thought we were back being at ease with each other. Really, I shouldn’t have assumed—’ Ron quickly put a finger on his lips to stop him from talking and as quickly retrieved it and blushed.  
  
‘Sorry Harry. It’s not that, I just ... wasn’t expecting you, y’know? I thought that I’d have time to adjust when you’d finally come back, that we’d know in advance and that I would be able to compose myself before I’d have to see you. And I found myself thrown off my feet. Still do. I don’t know what you’re expecting of me, what to expect of you, yeah? It’s been ages but I feel like you just left last week and that we’d brok—’ Ron stopped when he realised he was babbling like a girl.  
  
‘You’re right, it almost feels like I never really left but it happened. I mean, look around this house, all those babies and children, the weddings that happened ... You moved on, too, with your shop and those blokes you’ve been seeing. The one you’re dating too.’  
  
‘Dating? You mean Jack? Christ you’re kidding me, right? Harry, listen,’ Ron ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. ‘Jack and I are friends. He’s just a mate. Honest. I don’t know who told you about that,’ the smirk on Harry’s face told him, ‘right, I know who told you that, but really, we aren’t. Haven’t dated in ages, if you must know.’  
  
‘That’s fine, Ron. You don’t have to justify yourself, you know. It’s not my business anymore. Not that I don’t want it to be.’ The last part was grumbled in such a low voice that Ron didn’t catch it, busy as he was staring at his mug. When Ron looked up, Harry was looking at the fire and crimson was gracing his cheek.  
  
‘But that’s the thing Harry, I can’t see how it can NOT be your business! We’ve always been there for each other and I can’t let you out of my life like that ... You mean too much, you know.’  
  
Taking a deep breath, Harry understood it was time he stopped acting like a stupid fool in love.  _Even if you’re one, you wanker._ ‘Ron. C’mere.’ He lifted the corner of the quilt that kept him warm and repeated when all Ron did was look at him with bugged-out eyes. ‘C’mon Ron. It’s getting cold. Get your arse over here and come under the blanket. C’mon. I won’t bite.’ There was a hint of a smile hanging at the corner of his mouth, and Ron was won over, like in the old days. He remembered, too, those evenings spent cuddling in front of the fire, doing nothing more than enjoying each others’ company.  
  
With a sheepish look, Ron slid over the couch and tucked himself under the blanket as Harry put an arm around his shoulder. ‘We’re both morons, Ron,’ Harry said kissing the mop of red hair.  
  
With a happy sigh, Ron snuggled closer and murmured. ‘How did you know, Harry?’  
  
 _‘Quelqu’un me l’a dit, Ron. Quelqu’un me l’a dit.’_  
  
~ finis ~  
  



End file.
